


First Aid Kit

by PsychedelicBumblebee



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst, Banter, Fever, Fever Dreams, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Jonathan actually is afraid a lot, No Slash, and stunting of emotions, but nope, cause thats always fun, haha - Freeform, im done, in the batman animated series he is at least, just aggressive bromance, our boys dont honestly know what to do with each other, sorry read on please, they should probably get some socializing skillz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25847017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychedelicBumblebee/pseuds/PsychedelicBumblebee
Summary: When Nygma tries to go after Joker in revenge for a ruined heist, he gets shot, and Crane finds him struggling to stay alive. He can't leave Nygma to fend for himself like that, can he? Honour among thieves, as they say. That's the only reason, right? Right.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane & Edward Nygma
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Wounded

**Author's Note:**

> A very short little thing I wrote after getting really into bromantic Crane/Nygma stuff, and wanting desperately to try out their dynamic for myself. I had a lot of fun, admittedly, and Batman was particularly interesting to write.
> 
> Anyway, please review, I'd love to hear- er, read- your thoughts : )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Nygma tries to go after Joker in revenge for a ruined heist, he gets shot, and Crane finds him struggling to stay alive. He can't leave Nygma to fend for himself like that, can he? Honour among thieves, as they say. That's the only reason, right? Right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short little thing I wrote after getting really into bromantic Crane/Nygma stuff, and wanting desperately to try out their dynamic for myself. I had a lot of fun, admittedly, and Batman was particularly interesting to write.
> 
> Anyway, please review, I'd love to hear- er, read- your thoughts : )

He stumbled down the bulb-lit hallway, making his way to the stairs leading down to the alleyway, one hand tracing a weary path along the disgusting brick wall of Joker's not-so-secret lair.

His green suit was slowly turning red, soaked with blood leaking around the bullet lodged in his side. He was clutching the entrance wound with his free hand, trying desperately to staunch the blood flow.

It wasn't working very well, but he had to get out of here, had to get back to his lair before he bled to death. ~~(At least his lair was actually secret.)~~

Provided, of course, that he could actually make it down the stairs before Joker's goons caught up to him.

Not much longer now: his vision was getting fuzzy, but he had nearly reached the stairs.

"Nygma!"

He knew that voice, he was sure of it. But the throbbing in his head, paired with the sharp pain coursing through him from the offending bullet, hindered his mind.

He managed to stumble through a few more steps, but his knees gave out, just before he made the first stair.

But instead of hitting the floor as he'd feared, he was caught, and orange hair flashed across his eyes.

He let his head hang limply, lacking the strength to keep it up, as his rescuer pulled Nygma's long arm over their own shoulders.

The two started to trudge slowly down the stairs, the mystery man clearly making an effort to steer clear of Eddie's wound.

He knew the man was talking, but he couldn't quite hear him for all the cursed ringing in his ears.

"-of insanity were you thinking, Nygma?!" the man was suddenly saying, and the innate ringing had switched to background noise now. Edward could definitely pinpoint that accent now, and he was grateful, but he couldn't quite wrap his mind around why _he_ would help him, much less know where he had been.

He coughed wetly, making vague shoot through him, and he felt warm blood dribble down his chin. He squinted, his head still bowed, "Jonathan? Why-?"

Crane sighed patiently, his intent of scolding clear in his voice, "Because, Edward, you had the ridiculous notion that you could face Joker's hired men alone. I knew you would be injured before you had any chance to strike back, and it appears I was correct, as usual. I came after you to ensure you would not die, as you most certainly would have, had I not taken pity on you."

Eddie smiled a little; perhaps he had a companion after all.

No, he chided himself, quickly smothering the sentiment. 

Crane wouldn't appreciate that. They only tolerate one another because they have to. It's Gotham. He can't afford anything more than that. Honour code or no. Alliances or no.

He groaned as they reached the bottom of the stairs, but Crane continued to drag him along, taking him as far from the building as he could.

They ended up somewhere near the end of the alleyway, he thinks, more than likely far enough from the roads that no civilian (or bat) would see easily see them.

He figured it was the best they could do at the moment.

He was sat down on the pavement- dark and smelling of petrichor from the recent rain- and he slumped tiredly against the dirty brick wall.

Not his most prideful moment, he admits.

He watched Crane rummage through his pockets, emerging triumphantly with a small, white box in hand.

Eddie coughed, licked his cracked lips, "Why do you carry a- a first aid kit on you?"

Crane huffed, lips twitching upwards, "Because, you infidel genius, I _do_ need it sometimes. There are instances, occasionally, in which a victim who is exposed to my fear toxin tries to fight rather than cower, resulting in injuries on my own person."

He looked over Edward as he spoke, noticing several alarming things. For one, the rapidly growing red stain on the deep green jacket. Not mention that the glaze in his eyes, coupled with his shallow, laboured breathing, made it rather obvious that the wound had already fallen prey to infection.

Jonathan cursed under his breath, gently prying Edward's hand from the wound, and carefully smeared ointment over, in, and around it.

Edward gripped at Jon's sleeves, grimacing in pain as his wound was picked and prodded at. "Careful, Jon," he groaned, hissing through his teeth. "I'm not a piece of cardboard. I have pain sensors, you know."

"One could beg to differ," Jonathan replied smoothly, hiding his concern when all he got in response was another pained groan.

And then when, moments later, the grip was loosening abruptly, Eddie's body was going slack against the wall once more.

Crane's eyes widened, his heart jumping into his throat; Eddie had passed out.

He shook him hard, whisper-yelling, "Nygma! Nygma, you can't sleep yet! Nygma! Edward!"

"Professor Crane?"

He whipped around, coming face-to-face with the Dark Knight himself.

He yelped, scrambling backward and shooting to his feet, automatically moving to shield Edward's body with his own, "Don't come any closer, Batman. Do not harm him; he hasn't yet done anything."

The crusader took a tentative step forward anyway, raising his gloved hands to show he meant no harm. Not for now, at least, "Is he hurt?"

Jonathan, still very much leery of his rival, puts out his hands as well, though more to threaten and defend rather than in a show of surrender, "That is not your business, Dark Knight."

Batman lowered his arms, hiding them beneath his midnight cape, "I consider the safety of every Gothamite to be my business and my responsibility."

Jon sneered, "Then you are mistaken, Crusader. This man is certainly not your responsibility, and I can assure you that the rest of the city can attest."

He had discretely pulled what he liked to call a "fear bomb" from his belt as he spoke, and- with timing that he hoped might catch his rival by surprise- threw it at his feet.

Smoke exploded instantly, slamming a wall between the three men.

Jonathan squinted, barely making out the vigilante shielding his face with his cape, likely trying to get a lock on the rogues.

He quickly hefted Edward into a fireman's carry, grateful for the man's skinny frame, and ran as swiftly as he could, making for his latest lair.

He knew the Bat was immune to his Fear Gas, but at the very least it would serve to keep him occupied long enough to get a good headstart in the inevitable chase.

It was painfully thrilling, dashing between alleys, down sidewalks, across streets, all the while keeping a firm grip on his unconscious comrade.

After several grueling minutes, Jon spotted it. An abandoned building, grimy and disgusting, but still standing. Which is more than he could say for much of Gotham's grievous skid row.

it's previous occupants were an unfortunate annoyance, though he'd already disposed of them. They were below him, below his level of criminal class.

He stumbled in, slamming the door closed with his foot.

He laid his companion on the raggedy couch in what passed as Jon's front room, his arms and legs shaking fiercely with excess adrenaline and exhaustion. It quickly tapered off as he rolled up his sleeves, focusing on patching up Edward's wound.

He heaved an exhausted sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face.

This was going to be a long night.


	2. Fever Dreams

At two in the morning, Jon slumped against the door, assessing Eddie's condition, now that he'd done all he could.

He was still running an exceptionally high fever, but his breathing had steadied, and the blood from his wound had stopped oozing.

Jon had been forced to cut off the dark green jacket and purple vest to properly dress the wound. He doubted Nygma would forgive him for ruining his melodramatic suit, but Jon's eyes were getting much too heavy for him to really care.

His body went slack on its own accord, chin falling to rest on his chest, and he quickly drifted off.

XXX

Eddie woke to a pounding head, tingling skin, and pain in his. . . everywhere, really. He groaned, wanting to peel his eyes open, but the mere thought of such a thing exhausted him. He shivered, moving to turn onto his other side, but hissed through his teeth and groaned when a bolt of pain shot up his left side.

It flared and festered there as if furious with him, pushing him onto his other side. He huffed softly, curling into a freezing ball and passing out.

XXX

A black mass surrounded him, wind whipping through the sky like a sinister tornado.

He was terrified, defenseless, lying on the ground with his arms covering his face and his knees tucked beneath his chin.

There were thousands and thousands of crows around him, chirping and squawking and whirling around his head as if taunting him. They took turns swooping down to tear his exposed flesh, pecking and stinging and shredding. He tried to scream, but nothing emerged save for a muted rush of air.

He tried again to writhe, to get them off himself. The creatures only became larger, and he watched with wide, bloodshot eyes, watched as they grew and gathered until they had merged into one enormous, terrifying beast. It opened its beak in fury, and though still nothing came out, a shrill ringing pierced Jon's ears.

This time his scream rang out eager and burning, begging to be set free, resounding down into the earth and striking the atmosphere with a resonating _crack-!_

XXX

He gasped awake, bolting upright and smacking his head against the doorknob. He yelped in pain, more tears springing to his eyes and tracking down his cheeks. His heart hammered so hard against his ribcage that he feared it might burst from his chest.

His hands flew everywhere, patting and tracing, just to be sure that he was still all there. He nearly sobbed in relief when he realized it had only been a nightmare.

He tried to steady his breathing, electing to distract himself by checking on the injured rogue on his couch.

He crawled over on his knees, not yet trusting his legs to hold his weight (if he had any, that is; Eddie had always said Jon would be carried off by Gotham's wind if he wasn't careful), scrubbing at his eyes and wiping quickly at his shining cheeks.

Edward had curled into a tight ball, shivering hard and muttering incoherently. Jon reached out and ran a hand through Eddie's hair, trying to offer what comfort he could.

Eddie's eyes blinked open suddenly, a quiet gasp escaping his parted lips. Emerald eyes met blue, and a short silence settled before he managed hoarsely: "I f-feel like c-crap. Why'sit s-so cold in-in here?"

Jon smiled a little, "You and your wound have much in common, dear Edward: you are both infernally and maddeningly stubborn."

Eddie's brow furrowed, but even with his muddled mind he soon caught on. He tried to laugh, but it came out as nothing more than a painful cough, "G-getting sick always s-sucked when I was a k-kid." The last word came out as a half-groan, and he grit his teeth, hugging his stomach as it churned painfully.

"Are you going to be sick?"

Eddie nodded stiffly.

In a swift moment, Jonathan was back with a basin and pushing it into Eddie's hands, grimacing as the genius lurched upwards just in time to empty the contents of his stomach.

He wrinkled his nose when he got a chance to peer into the basin, "That's disgusting."

Jon simply snorted in agreement, watching with some concern as Eddie sat up the rest of the way, leaning against the back of the couch and breathing hard, slipping his eyes shut against his pounding head.

"What are you doing?" Jon demanded, not without a touch of irritation.

Eddie cracked open a bloodshot eye, and Jon had to suppress a shiver at the sight of it, "Sitting up before my stomach decides to make a second appearance."

Jon hummed irritably, leaning against the couch by Eddie's legs, and for a time they managed an almost amicable silence.

"What was your dream about?" Jonathan asked suddenly, soft, almost bothering to restrain the urge for Scarecrow to take a portion of the metaphorical wheel.

Eddie was silent for long enough that Jon just about opened his mouth to demand he forget he'd said anything, before Eddie responded with a question of his own.

"What was yours?"

Jon swallowed hard, "How would you know-?"

"I didn't, but thank you for confirming."

Another hard swallow.

"Jonathan, your eyes are red, you look miserable, and your face is damp as hell."

Eddie counted two beats before Jon countered, " I'm exhausted from carrying your deadweight, I always look miserable, and it's been raining outside for hours."

"Okay, first off," Eddie fired back, quick as ever, "I know for a fact that my body is far too amazing to be deadweight. And I don't hear any rain, not to mention that the rest of you would be soaked through."

Jon brooded, crossing his arms over his chest, "Well, it _was_ raining for hours."

Eddie sighed in frustration, "Jon-"

Eddie startled when the scientist shot to his feet, simply snarling at him before briskly striding to the next room. He didn't bother to stop himself slamming the door as he went.

Eddie flinched, his headache flaring and prompting him to lie back down in an effort to dispel it.

Then his white undershirt caught his eye, and he gaped at it before steeling himself and shouting, "Jonathan Crane, what in Gotham's name did you dare do to my beautiful suit?!"

He pouted when he was met with only cackling laughter from the other side of the door. He shivered, curling back into a ball, but his lips twitched upward as he drifted off.

XXX

"You idiot," the voice was muffled, pushing from one world to another, and Edward couldn't find it in himself to respond; couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't speak.

All he could do was lie motionless, barely breathing and struggling not to soil himself as somebody ran a freezing, dripping cloth across his forehead. It was nice in a way, to not have his mind rampaging quite as fiercely as it usually was.

He groaned softly, confused and in pain, but that same voice shushed him.

"Lie still, Edward. As furious as I am with you, I certainly don't want you to die from some fever that got lucky."

Eddie groaned again in response, breaking off into a coughing fit. When it finally finished, hot bile rose in his throat, so he leant over the side of the couch and vomited. Jon helped him back up, and he whined in pain.

"Did you just-?" Jonathan asked, his tone filled the question of _why do I stick around you?_

Eddie whined again in response.

Jon huffed, almost affectionate. He mumbled something about a twenty-five year-old child.

"Go back to sleep, Edward.'

And for once in his life, he listened.

XXX

When he woke again, he was being propped up carefully, but this time he could afford to slit his eyes open without regarding them as deadweights. A bowl of steaming soup was being shoved in his face. He blinked, trying to get his brain to work through the hazy fog in his mind.

"Eat," Jonathan said, like a mantra he'd repeated one too many times. "You need it."

Eddie swallowed, pleasantly surprised to find he had no taste of bile nor any urge to vomit. He parted his lips in offering, practically _hearing_ Crane roll his eyes.

Ed sighed in relief when warmth coated his dry tongue, easing the frost that had settled in his core.

He wasn't sure how much he ate before the familiar sensation of burning stomach acid hit him once again, and he had to turn his head away.

Crane huffed, "Very well. But when you wake again, you must eat more. You need to regain your strength."

Eddie hummed in agreement, already half asleep.

XXX

When he opened his eyes, a cliff was stretched out above him.

It was shrinking at an alarming pace. Curious, he thought, until he realized that there was a loud whistling in his ears, a horrible wind threatening to swallow him.

He was falling, he realized, his lungs seizing in his chest as he watched the ground beneath race closer and closer with each passing second.

So, this is how it would end.

Not by the Bat, not by another rogue, not even at the hand of some lucky, measly street robber.

Hell- he couldn't even recall how he'd fallen.

Did he trip? Was it suicide? Survival, perhaps?

This couldn't be real.

He was miserable, sure, but he certainly didn't wish to die anytime soon.

So he could rule out suicide, then.

He was trying to focus on how free yet heavy his limbs were, airborne- anything to distract him from the inevitable- but the next instant he was slamming into the ground with sickening _crunch_ and a _squelch_.

He screamed as agony seared through his very being, and he opened his mouth to scream, hardly able to move enough to writhe in pain.

He was starting to black out, he knew, and he could do little but gasp for breath as he lost his grip on consciousness, falling into yet another abyss of darkness.

XXX

He gasped awake to a black room, his head threatening to split in two. He was lying down, still unable to move. Somebody (its face was darker than Joker's heart) was advancing towards him, snarling and dragging a scythe along the ground, a horrible screeching jumping off of it and echoing all around him.

He wheezed, struggling in his bonds to no avail.

Its eyes glowed, leering down at him in contempt, "I swallow happiness and incite insanity through anticipation. I have mercy for neither saint nor sinner. What am I?"

And Edward could not _think_ ; his brain was still for once, tossing him nothing and wringing everything out. He tried desperately to think, knew somehow that his life depended on this, but only colours exploded across his mind's eye, and behind that. . . nothing.

He struggled to breathe, tried to convince himself that the lack of oxygen was obstructing his ability to think, but it didn't account for the utter, absolute blankness, or his scramble to solve would should've been a simple, simple riddle.

The figure raised the scythe high above its head, grinning to reveal glowing yellow teeth, "Death."

It came down on his breast, right between his rib-cages and ripping through his flesh ruthlessly, bones cracking and splintering and he screamed again, tears streaming down his face, mixing with splattered blood.

The blade was yanked from his chest- once, twice, three times- and he was everywhere but nowhere all at once, death taunting him as laughter and screams filled his ears-

He gasped awake, a scream echoing in his ears. He scrambled for a proper breath, trembling hands gripping his shirt in panic. He could vaguely hear Jonathan beside him, could feel a hand rubbing his arm.

He forced himself to look at Jon, terrified to let his eyes slip closed, to lose reality again. The scientist was looking back at him in a rare moment of open concern, and Edward wheezed painfully, doing his best to focus on those blue orbs.

"Edward," Jon was almost pleading now, gripping Ed's shoulder. "Edward, it's alright. You're at my lair. Your fever broke mere minutes ago, which is probably why you had the nightmare-"

"Give me a riddle," Ed pleaded hoarsely.

Jon blinked, "Beg pardon?"

"Give me a riddle," he repeated, gripping Jon's arm urgently.

Jon stammered a little, taken aback. He had to take a few moments just to compose himself before spouting a riddle, "I reach for the sky, and clutch to the ground. Sometimes I leave, but I am always around. What am I?"

"A cloud," Eddie replied without hesitation. Hardly an effort. The answer had spewed from his lips before he could think it.

Jonathan smiled through his confusion, "Excellent, Edward. How is that relevant?"

Edward blinked, eyeing Jon skeptically, "It- it's. . . you're going to go all Scarecrow."

Jon smiled again, though now more sickly-sweet than friendly, "My dear Edward, you know as well as I how little control I possess over such fickle things."

Eddie rolled his eyes, shaking off the slight fear at the unsettling gleam in Jon's eyes. "I dreamt I couldn't solve a riddle," he admitted quietly.

Jonathan gripped tight his fascination, settling reluctantly for an amused scoff, "Of course you did."

Eddie's eyes widened- _was it really so obvious?_ _-_ and Jon waved a hand to reassure him, "Quite frankly, I would be deeply dismayed for the future of this horrendous city if that wasn't common knowledge."

"First off," Eddie replied, pouting a little, "ouch. Second off, how dare you." He sighed, falling back onto the sofa. Reluctantly, he accepted the glass Jon offered him and sipped carefully at it.

"How do you feel?" Jon asked, rising to sit on the table in front of the couch.

"Like crap," Eddie admitted. "But better than if the Bat had beat me to a pulp."

Jon huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself. "You only need some more rest, and you will be fine."

Edward grimaced as if he'd tasted something sour, "I don't think I can sleep after that. . . dream."

"Perhaps a go at melatonin?" Jon offered.

At Eddie's vague nod, Jon disappeared into his kitchen, back before Eddie could let out another sigh. The genius raised a brow in surprise, holding out a hand to take the three tablets. "That was fast."

Jonathan hummed, taking another four tablets for himself, "Recall my curse of insomnia, Edward. I try my best to keep it in reach."

Ed's mouth quirked up.

"Of course, it's still going to take quite a while for it properly kick in. For me, at least," Jonathan said with a practised sigh.

Eddie shrugged, "I kind of want to stave it off for as long as possible."

Jonathan chuckled, shaking his head, "There is no similarity between us in that respect, dear Edward."

Eddie smiled again, laying on his side and facing Jon.

"Thank you, Jon."

"Merely honour among thieves."

Eddie raised a brow with a smirking.

The corners of Jonathan's mouth quirked up, just a little, as if resigning himself to the inevitable, "And because I am sure that the Gotham underworld would be a little worse for wear, should you ever quit us."

Eddie immediately brightened, a grin splitting his face and eyes sparkling, "Why Jon, how poetic." The man twirled and flipped his hand, as if giving a bow, "I feel the same goes for you, as the esteemed god of fear in our beloved Gotham."

"And you say _I'm_ poetic," Jon grumbled.

Eddie yawned widely, sleep tugging at him impatiently. "I am not merely poetic, Jonathan, I am melodramatic," he drawled in a bad British accent, already beginning to drift off.

It wasn't until he had fallen absolutely asleep that Jonathan let a small smile once again grace his features.

"And that may very well be the best part of you, my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know what you're thinking: "Isn't three/four melatonin a bit much?"  
> Probably, but- from my experience and great fortune of having insomnia, I have learnt that the fastest way to fall asleep is to take three or four melatonin. And that's just to fall asleep, not stay asleep.
> 
> Anyway, sorry if that sounded a little arrogant. I'm just tired from getting like 4 hours of sleep, I think.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a kudos- and why not a thought or two?  
> Thank you guys again for sticking with this, despite my horrible, unpredictable posting schedule


End file.
